


Dustin Pubsign And The Case Of The Hairy Dangle

by heyguysitsliv, TheDastardlyDuo



Category: One Man Two Guv'nors, One Man Two Guv'nors - Theater
Genre: 1960s, Bad Acting, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Male Character, British Slang, Crack Relationships, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Internalized Homophobia, Multi, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Canon, References to Shakespeare, era-typical polyamory, era-typical slang, ridiculous english accents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 11:02:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23810509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyguysitsliv/pseuds/heyguysitsliv, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDastardlyDuo/pseuds/TheDastardlyDuo
Summary: "Maybe other men think you can play doubles and have your meat and veg at once. Spinach and tomatoes. Vanilla ice cream and buggery, roses AND violets, you understand. But me? I’ve never even looked at a man’s arse for longer than the appropriate two minutes.”- - - - -Stanley Stubbers has a very loving wife, a very perfect anniversary, and very unresolved issues from public school.
Relationships: Stanley Stubbers/Alan Dangle, Stanley Stubbers/Rachel Crabbe
Kudos: 1





	1. My Husband, The Cheesecake

**Author's Note:**

> Written by Liv for my dear Friend-Of-Friend-Who-Became-My-Friend Ben. Also, for fun, because this fandom deserves, well, a FANDOM, but also more content.

“I do love nothing in the world so well as you- is not that strange?“  
Benedick - Much Ado About Nothing

“I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.” 

Beatrice - Much Ado About Nothing

“Seek not to alter me.”

Don Jon- Much Ado About Nothing

_____________________

Celebrating an anniversary in The Summer Of Love, 1969, was a generally tough act to throw together. 

Everything in the day-to-day seemed so romanticized already. “The Pill” for women was now at its latest boom in commercial sales. The title of ‘Playboy Bunny’ was now officially a bonafide and lucrative career. In the streets and show windows, it was the latest the fashion for women and girls to wear skirts so high that sitting down became a functional impossibility. And if that weren’t enough, you couldn’t flip on the telly without seeing rock n’ roll teenagers ruthlessly dogging in the middle of a San Francisco public park.

It certainly made it a damn struggle to maintain fresh and exciting romance back in Brighton. Even for the most enlightened, impulsive, and eccentric of couples. 

At least, this was the thought that occurred to a Mrs. Rachel Stubbers, Nee Crabbe as she sat hunched over her desk, surrounded by glitter pens and crumpled card-stock devotionals. So far, her main idea had been to write something sweet, but it had been a slow going process, and after three hours had passed, it was getting harder and harder to keep her doting spouse out of the bedroom/office in the minuscule apartment they shared. 

“I need to get my dress trousers! The cab will be here in an hour.” Her husband, Stanley, pleaded helplessly from the other side of the door. She could just imagine him, hopping nervously from foot to foot- she’d kicked him out while still in his underthings. Panic trickled down her back like an ice cube.

“Five more minutes I promise darling!” She crooned in her best placating voice. “Go read another Beano. See what Dennis the Menace is up to?” 

There was a faint whinge of assent, then footfalls grew fainter, back down the hall. Rachel sighed with relief and frowned back at her latest draft again, gnawing testily at her pencil. 

She was making a real mess of this, she'd better come up with something soon. Already her patience was wearing thin and she was tempted to scrap the whole stupid idea and perhaps try to convince him their anniversary was tomorrow. 

Think, think, think. 

The two of them had always shared a penchant for verbose and complex allusions. She tried her best to envision which comparisons captured her lover most succinctly. 

_A nose like a Roman emperor, the fashion sense of a schoolboy, and chest like a shag carpet, emphasis on the shag._

Ooh, that was good bit. She uncapped a pen and highlighted _‘shag’_ in curly-cued pink marker. 

_The vocabulary of P.G. Wodehouse, and the passion of a Byronic hero._

No, these sentiments would a bit past his mental stamina. Surely he might be flattered nonetheless, but if she wanted to inspire comprehension, she realized it might be best to stay at a first-year reading level. 

Bless him. 

It ceaselessly amazed her how her own four years at Hillcroft had given her a breadth of cultural, intellectual, and scandalously sapphic experiences that every women’s university student should expect, but someone like Stanley could emerge from veritable lifetime built up to attending Cambridge-bloody-University with no more than several suspicious bruises, piss-scented pajamas, and a commemorative cricket bat. 

This was all too cerebral. 

What was that one metaphor she craved? What encapsulated this man that had swept her off her feet, stabbed her close relative, and been willing to die for her in a matter of two weeks?

_A cheesecake._

The thought brought a sly curl to the corner of her lip. It had been so random, but the more she thought of it, the more it humored her. 

_My husband the cheesecake; very sweet, a bit thick, and very very rich._

Rap-rap-rap. Stanley was back at the door again.

“That was five minutes! I counted it. It was exactly five. I counted in order, and I didn’t miss any numbers!” 

It was the sound of pride in this ridiculous statement that finally broke the last of her convictions. 

Sweeping the papers up, she deposited them, as well as her latest draft, into the bin and sat up, stretching like a cat and cracking her back a few times. She’d sort it out later. 

Perhaps she’d just buy him a tie or something. Or maybe a model steam engine. 

“Sorry, love. I’m all finished up in here now.”

Opening the door, she stood on her tip-toes to greet him with a kiss, entwining her fingers at the nape of his neck to secure her reach as he straightened, before releasing him to dress. 

“Are you excited for the performance, Hairy Bear?” 

This was the kind of question that never needed to be asked in this household, but she did it anyway partly because she loved to hear him spew posh nonsense in the throes of emotion. 

As always, she was not disappointed. 

“Excited? I’m absolutely striped and checkered sideways! You could skewer me with a tin fork about it and still I couldn’t be more Cocker Spaniel!”

“Ooh, I’m glad to hear it!” She watched him affectionately as he applied his cologne, something abominable from Selfridges, and preened shirtless for a moment in front of the vanity. 

_Do they make combs for manscaping? They must do, they have razors and all that. Maybe a horse brush…_

“I was hoping we might match, tonight!” he continued, jolting her from her reverie. He had migrated to the closet now, scrutinizing two identical jumpers. “You know. Me in something blue, and you in something blue. Or you in something pink and me in something slightly less pink because I’m not a poof and all that.” 

“Mm.” Rachel cocked an eyebrow, and he was quick to backpedal and correct himself. 

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that! Besides that it might look a bit Spanish, you being married to a puff-pastry I mean. Again, no judgement of course, it’s just not my blackcurrant jam! I haven’t any trouble with homos of course! They can gin rummy all the way to Yorkshire for all I give a whatsit.”

“I-” Rachel inhaled to speak, but he interrupted her. 

“It just that me, personally, I’ve never been a Polari. I’m not a swinger, not even halfway bent. Maybe other men are, think you can play doubles and have your meat and veg at once. Spinach and tomatoes. Vanilla ice cream and buggery. Some men like roses AND violets, you understand. But me? I’ve never even looked at a man’s arse for longer than the appropriate two minutes.”

“I kn-”

“So really, it was just barmy to even worry about the pink in the first place, because, obviously, there’s nobody who loves Strawberry Creams more than I do, so there isn’t any cause for concern that I’d be a knob jockey in the first place. Because of how much I love jubblies. Knockers, I mean. Especially women’s. Especially yours!” 

He grinned brightly, then turned his attention back to the jumpers. 

There was a long, silent pause. 

Stanley finally ditched the sweater idea altogether over another and set to work pulling on a starched white shirt and fiddling with the buttons. When he looked back to his wife, Rachel’s other had eyebrow came up to meet the first.

“… _What?!_ ”

She only smiled at his bemused expression. 

“Nothing! I love you, that’s all. ” 

His brow furrowed. “I love you too…” 

“Well then get dressed! We’ll be late, he’s saved us premier seats! Mwah.” She leaned to press a kiss to his temple before sashaying back towards her dresser to start applying her lipstick. 

Under her breath, she muttered more to the mirror. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”


	2. Musical Interlude #1: Rachel

[Spotify Playlist For Rachel](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7jnOQ0rnnICNcH2JJVHlVk)

Spin-O-Rama by The Primitives  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5xJQz9gzMcI

Baby Be Mine by The Yearning  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jKRiJWouBdc&list=RDEMqfq-wdrMKBKK4gicFw3Z8A&index=6

I Only Want to be With You by Dusty  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CL7t22rypew&list=PLo0tzmnlxcWlPCaQgkvcNhXBR6vN4bD4R

Mockingbird by Inez and Charlie Foxx  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g47_NI1CWNQ&list=PLRinDCPGhRcpITFRjW-462C4G0-36t-UZ&index=38

Boom Bang-a Bang by Lulu  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BTq9T3SbS4M

Think It All Over by Sandy Shaw  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JZ4jmMhzWik&list=PLRinDCPGhRcpITFRjW-462C4G0-36t-UZ&index=98

These Boots Are Made For Walkin' By Nancy Sinatra  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rypT2qMO1RY

I'll Be There by Jackie Trent  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Q8R6atVjCY&list=PLRinDCPGhRcpITFRjW-462C4G0-36t-UZ&index=69

Come Back And Shake Me by Clodagh Rodgers  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5o7rl2Hq8Sw


	3. The Knees Up

"So, have I got this right- that man _there_ is the baddie?" 

"Don Jon, yes."

"Mm. And this Don Jon fellow has it up to disgrace that lady there by saying she's the village bicycle." 

"Hero, yes, he's trying to say she's unfaithful."

"Meanwhile the saucy bird and the bloke with the officer's hat-" 

"Beatrice and Benedick, keep your voice down please."

"Oh, sorry, right. *They're* off being catty and beating around the mulberry shrub." 

"Yes, very good, you've got it." 

"...Who's that chap over there, then?"

"I think that's a column, love."

"Saint's elbows, is it really? I didn't see that in the programme, who's playing him, do you think?" 

"Hushushush! Look! Alan's coming in!" 

A hush fell between the two chatty ticketholders in the closest righthand box of the Lyceum, as they both leaned over the edge to catch an even more gratuitously superb view of the stage. 

Far below them spread the cobbled streets of Messina.

Trumpet fanfare sounded from the orchestra, as emerging from stage left came, first, a pair of knees. 

These knees, bent in the true actor's fashion, at 75 degrees each, immediately were preceded by a pair of black-spandex clad thighs, and they carried upon them a pelvis so dramatically thrust forward that were it not for the security of his stance, it would have thrown the rest of the body out of balance.   
Atop the pelvis rested a noble abdomen, atop the torso stood a proud, peacocking chest. Atop the chest stood a neck, which supported a face, etched with a well rehearsed and determined expression. Above the face, a mop of greasy medium length brown hair sat Pommade'ed securely into beat revolution-approved chin-length waves. 

Beneath the knees were feet, underneath the feet were the soles of a pair of jazz shoes, underneath the jazz shoes was the stage, and on TOP of the stage stood Alan, because, as he fully entered, it became undeniable that he was the man to whom all these assorted body parts belonged. 

Stanley and Rachel both leapt up at once when he appeared, cheering ecstatically, fists pumping in the air, until they were both tersely 'shush'ed by a gravely underpaid usher, after which they remained bashfully in their seats. Still, it didn't stop them from exchanging an enthused grin at each other, Rachel's knees bouncing, her fingernails drumming on the armrest in her excitement. 

Alan was clad in a sweltering velvet doublet, under which he wore a pair of black tights that hugged so close to his body they would likely have been grounds for imprisonment in several less open-minded foreign nations. 

Altogether, though it appeared that six years of marriage to an excellent housewife had not exactly improved his toned weight regimen, he had still retained a fairly impressive physique, though he seemed to be more comfortably built than the last time the couple had seen him. 

With a glance at each-other and an approving nod, both silently registered the change as a relative improvement. 

Striding purposefully to centerstage, directly in front of where a buxom young Hero lay weeping, Alan surveyed his scene partners with a kind of regal civility, hands poised on his hips. 

For a moment, he simply stood there. 

Two moments. Several moments. 

His eyes shrewd and calculating as they squinted smolderingly into the middle distance. 

The other actors just seemed to wait, with the kind of resigned patience that only three weeks' rehearsal with this ridiculous arsehole could muster.   
It occurred to Rachel that perhaps he had forgotten his first line of the scene, and her pace quickened in her drumming on the armrest until Stanley ceased her by tenderly taking her hand in his own, his eyes still focused on the stage. 

The audience was dead silent. 

Five seconds more. Ten seconds now. 

_Come on, Alan. Come on, come on, come on-_ Rachel was muttering. 

Under the spotlight, they saw him heave an enormous breath- 

"THERE LEONATO, TAKE HER BACK AGAIN! GIVE NOT THIS ROTTEN ORAGE TO YOUR FRIEND-"  
Bellowing with a level of diaphragmatic projection that rivaled a jet engine, spit flying from his lips, Alan began his monologue. 

Collectively, in one unanimous motion, the entire house breathed a sigh of relief.   
______

After curtain call, Stanley and Rachel had 'round the back outside the stage door to meet up with Alan, holding flowers.   
They were still in their dinner things; Stanley, sufficiently stifled in a tuxedo and dickey, and Rachel in some lovely pink thing with no straps and a slim taffeta waist.   
The former had treated his beloved to an incredible dinner at The Ledbury earlier that afternoon, and the remnants of their 120 pound Cabernet kept them warm was they waited in the cold night air. 

When Alan finally emerged, sweaty and still caked in his stage makeup, they caroused him with another round of cheers and hurrahs. Upon seeing them, his face lit up like the footlights, all after-show weariness evaporating in the breeze. 

"Stanley! Rachel! You actually made it!" 

He dropped his duffel and compact to run and wrap them in a warm, familiar hug. He reeked of cologne, but this was no surprise. 

After they finally released him, he bent good-naturedly for Rachel to give him a kiss on the cheek, and shook Stanley firmly by the hand, grinning. 

"Cor, this is brilliant! I hope you liked the show?"

"We loved it!" Rachel gushed, quickly. "It was amazing to finally see you onstage! You're such a talent!"

Alan brushed off the compliment as he was forced to do by propriety, kicking the pavement. 

"Oh, come off it. It's only my first professional show." 

"All the more reason to be in awe!" Rachel pressed. "I, er, really liked that dramatic pause you did. It was, er, very avante garde!" 

Alan positively beamed. It was clear that positive feedback had been few and far between. 

"Really? I'm so glad you noticed! I was worried it wasn't really getting across, I was thinking I should make it longer, d'jya think?" 

Stanley and Rachel exchanged looks. 

"Nooo, I think it's perfect how it is. I mean, why tamper with brilliance?" 

"Yeah, your prob'ly right. God, it's good to see you! Just the people I wanted to see! What about you, Stan? Stan the man? The Stan of La Mancha? What did you think, eh? Good as your stuff down at the ACD in Cambridge?"

"Barrels and cratefuls BETTER, old man!" 

Stanley clapped him heartily on the back, making him wince slightly. 

"It was absolutely cracking! Been an age since I saw I saw something by the ol' glovemaker's son. But this was just the mule's trainers! Absolutely phenominal! I felt I was right there in Medina-"

Rachel tugged his sleeve. "Messina, darling."

"-Messina, yes. The whole thing was dashed exquisite! Although, come to think of it-" Stanley frowned. "I must say, old bean, I didn't care much for those funny specs you lent us."

Alan blinked, having been in the middle of accepting Rachel's lovely bouquet. He looked befuddled. "What, the opera glasses?"

Stanley nodded. 

"Yop, yop, yop. I may not know anything about the old treaded boards, but tried looking through them but all the blasted things seemed to do was make everything go really far back and look very tiny! I'd half a mind to complain!"

Alan raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure you didn't have them the wrong way 'round, Stan?" 

Stanley considered this for a moment.

"Crikey, I think you're right." He pouted. "You mean they were supposed to make things large? Bugger, when you put it like that they probably could have been ruddy helpful." 

Rachel pulled her husband closer by the waist and gave him an affectionate squeeze. 

"We're _so_ thankful for the seats, Alan. Especially on closing night. Are you going to have a cast party?"

Alan's joy seemed to visibly dim slightly, his puffed chest deflating.   
"Er, well, no. Not really."

Rachel gaped. "No cast party? For a production at the Lyceum? That's really strange."

"No, no, no there _is_ a cast party." 

Alan coughed into his hand and look at his shoes.  
  
"It's just that, well, I apparently wasn't actually- technically, er, invited." 

Man and wife both balked instantly in horror.   
Stanley said something that sounded suspiciously like 'Theater life!' and Rachel clutched a hand to her heart.

"Oh, Alan, that's terrible! Why on earth would they do something like that to you?" 

He shrugged moodily. 

"'S fine. Really. I've got the wife back at the flat, cookin' up a meatloaf tonight, I've gotta rush home as it is." 

"Well then-" Stanley planted a firm grasp on the struggling thesbian's shoulder. "-tell her to set the table for a few more!" 

Alan cocked an eyebrow. "Ay?" 

"You heard me," Stanley continued. "We could throw a knees up at your place! A real class event those backstage sandbaggers couldn't fathom!" 

Rachel gasped delightedly at her husband. 

"Ooh! That's a wonderful idea, pumpkin! You're so clever!" 

Stanley preened. "Thanks, I've been told. How about it, Alan? A good old friendly boozer." 

The amateur actor seemed hesitant.

"What, have our own party at mine? I dunno... It's not really a cast party without the, y'know, cast. "

Rachel waved a dismissive hand. 

"Please. Nuts to those overinflated, pompous bullies. Have us 'round! We could break out some the good scotch we've been keeping! Cheese and crackers. We'll have our own private 'do'! Plus, I've been just _dying_ to see Pauline." 

This seemed to crack the actor's limited reservations. "Oh, go on then. Sounds like great fun if I'm honest. Me and my 'inamorata' didn't have anything special planned like you lot-"

"Hm? OH, YES, RIGHT!" 

Rachel smacking her palm to her forehead. 

"Your anniversary is the same day as ours, isn't it? Because Pauline's dad had us all go to the courthouse to prove there was no funny business! I can't believe I'd forgotten." 

She furrowed her brow at the memory. 

"Strange man, bless him. But, oh, Alan, we wouldn't want to intrude! Gosh, it's probably Francis's anniversary too I expect...Forget it, we wouldn't want to be a bother."

She took Stanley by the arm, moving to shepherd him back towards the car. But Alan shook his head, seemingly staunch in his decision. 

"No, it's perfect actually! That way we'll all have a spending celebration together! I hadn't hacked it up to give anything to her yet, it'll be a corking gift to see you all!" 

"Well that's settled then!" 

Stanley piped jovially.

"I suppose you have a car old man? Or we could take you up in mine." He jutted a thumb behind him at a sparkling blue 1961 Vauxhall Victor. 

Alan's eyes bugged. "That's _yours_ ? I took the tube."

Stanley recoiled. 

"The _tube_ ?" 

He pronounced with outright disgust, throwing on an extra liquid 'u' for emphasis. I.E. 'tyuube'. 

"The _tube_ ? Well we can't have that, old sport! I won't stand for it. And besides, I take great care to never travel on the same transport where rats have done a shit." He sniffed loftily. "You would do well to do the same."

"Sure, sure. Alright." Alan nodded distractedly, his gaze still fixed on the glimmering chrome hood of the car. It was only when they piled him into the backseat that he seemed to jiggle himself back into consciousness. 

"Blimey, Stan, how do you afford a car like this?" 

Rachel turned around in the passenger's seat.

"Best not to question the miracles of upper class inequality, mm?" 

She tapped the side of her nose and winked. 

"But how do you do it? Eating out every night, surely it's not just inheritance?" 

"Would you both kindly stop talking?" Stanley eyed the rearview as he deftly undid the parking break and pulled the car out of parallel. "Not to be rude and all that, only, otherwise I can't remember what side I'm meant to be driving on..." 

This one statement assured that rest of the ride was spent in terrified silence, as they emerged onto Wellington Street and set off into the vibrant city night.

**Author's Note:**

> More to come, this was so much fun to write. Leave loads of comments and junk if you're keen!


End file.
